


Seduction diplomacy

by macdeau



Category: Macdeau - Fandom, Political RPF - Canadian 21st c., Political RPF - France 21st c.
Genre: Canada, France (Country), M/M, je ne regrette rien
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 00:33:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11612223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macdeau/pseuds/macdeau
Summary: Emmanuel Macron is in for a late night in his bureau when he receives an unexpected visit.Vive la République et vive la France !





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let's hope that our politicians don't actually do international relations like this. 
> 
> Please excuse my excessive fangirling. I'm weak.

The President of France was sitting behind his desk on a clear Friday night, working, as usual, on a revision of the housing tax. He was hoping to abolish it, so his task tonight involved making corrections on the new lawmaking project, which was time-consuming, and yet, vital. The Presidency carried the greatest burden of responsibility, so his days were tiring and his nights, restless.

Having worked for several hours straight, he finally allowed himself to sit back on his chair. The sustained effort was putting a strain in his beautiful blue eyes. He rubbed his lids with the back of his hand and sighed heavily, with a sinking feeling of loneliness. The last G20 meeting had ended a few hours ago. There was hardly anybody around, and his bureau was on the last floor. He removed his jacket and took some time to reflect on the events of the day.

By far, the most promising meeting had been the one he had had with the Prime Minister of Canada. He felt overpowered by his drive, his charisma and his values. He recalled the firm grasp of his fingers as they shook hands, the disarming smile he had given him and his penetrating gaze. For the rest of the evening, he could not stop thinking about not only his policies, but also the way his muscles shifted under his crisp white shirt and his oddly seductive Québecois accent. When the conversation broke off, he surprised himself admiring his thick black lashes.

To his dismay, he couldn't help staring at the masculine angles of his lips, wondering how it would feel to lean forward and press their mouths together. Had they been alone in the room, Macron would have loved to run his fingers through the Prime Minsiter's hair, and maybe place his hands firmly on his hips and push them back against the nearest wall. He would have removed Trudeau's clothes and bit his lips, and he would have pressed his growing erection against the Canadian's body, listening to his own agitated breath as he rubbed himself against his flesh. Macron was now fully hard.

He readjusted his tie and his trousers, which now felt uncomfortably tight. In his mind, there was nothing to feel guilty about, as his attraction for him was justified by his ridiculously good looks. Although he craved some sort of company, Macron was relieved to be completely alone in his bureau at this particular time. He reached down, unapologetically, to unbuckle his belt. And then his phone vibrated on the table.

"Mr Justin P. J. Trudeau, Prime Minister of Canada, is waiting downstairs in the lobby for an impromptu meeting. Should I usher him to your bureau, or rather schedule a more appropriate time for tomorrow? Reply at your earliest."

The message in French appeared in the screen thanks to his personal assistant, who had been instructed to send urgent notifications via mobile phone.

The President felt like it was an invasion of his privacy. He blushed slightly and felt a sudden pang of guilt.

"Send him in." He replied simply.


	2. Chapter 2

The President was still sitting behind his desk when he heard a firm knock on the door.  
"Entrez !" he said.

A familiar masculine figure came into the office. There was only one visitor, without any bodyguards, interpreters or assistants. He was wearing a tailored dark blue suit and patent leather shoes. The Prime Minister closed the door behind him.

Macron was unknowingly biting his bottom lip. He was surprised of seeing him right there, in front of him, all alone. Trudeau found himself staring at the President's mouth and following the marked line of his jaw. He felt compelled to remove his jacket, and as he did so, his muscles shifted a bit.

As Macron spoke, Trudeau listened intently to every word, until he realized that the President's voice was slowly turning him on. All that he pronounced sounded elegant thanks to his impeccable French accent. He noticed the movement of his lips as he spoke, and slowly lost focus. He couldn't distinguish what he was talking about anymore, although every once in a while he caught the words "bataille", "commerce" or "immigration". He figured that the long hours of panel discussions that had taken place during the day were taking its toll on his ability to concentrate, and he promised himself not to push it too far the next time.

"Se faire sauter..."  
The Prime Minister started.  
"Excusez-moi?" He must have misheard that last sentence. There was no way the President could have said "se faire sauter", which meant having sex.  
The President looked him in the eye.  
"Je viens de dire que les terroristes ont l'habitude de se faire sauter."  
"Ah, compris." Trudeau held the Frenchman's gaze. "S'il-vous-plaît, continuez", he pleaded softly.  
He walked calmly across the room to hang the jacket, and on his way back, he tugged at his tie and undid it. His trousers were starting to feel tight, but he hoped his French homologue wouldn't notice.  
"Avez-vous chaud?" Macron asked with a frown on his face.  
"You have no idea", Trudeau thought. He made the mistake of crossing the President's piercing gaze again, and felt himself getting excited. He aimed a bright smile at Macron as he slid his tie along the collar of his shirt and left it on the armchair. Macron had stopped talking, and he had a puzzled expression on his face. Trudeau undid the first button of his crisp white shirt, then the second and the third, and as he got to the last one, he let his shirt slide down to the ground under Macron's wide-eyed stare.  
"Oui, j'ai vraiment très chaud."

Emmanuel reached out to grasp his own belt.  
"Alors, j'espère que je pourrai vous aider." he whispered. He then unbuckled it and slid it off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I continue?  
> This ship has sailed.


	3. Chapter 3

Macron couldn't believe his eyes. The Prime Minister of Canada was undressing for him only. He lowered his gaze from his neck, to his exposed chest, to his stomach, and to his narrow hips. His naked torso was just a few feet away, on the other side of his mahogany work table, and he ached to run his hands through it, ignoring the fact that they were both lawfully married.

He felt a strong desire to touch himself. The Prime Minister was now slowly removing his own trousers while staring at him. The Frenchman was breathing heavily, but nevertheless, the thought dawned upon him that they were forgetting their responsibilities.

"Attends." Which stands for: wait.

Trudeau straightened up and asked him what the matter was.

Macron, still sitting down, tried to keep cool despite his obvious hard-on, and muttered that their respective countries expected more of their leaders than clandestine meetings in the darkness of an office. Besides, he added huskily, the two of them had a family.

Trudeau, stunning in his black underwear, took a few steps forward and circled Macron's table until he was facing him directly. The Frenchman also swiveled in his chair and looked up at his honest face and blue eyes, which were now clouded with lust. Trudeau leaned forward and placed his hands on his knees, and then his thighs, and stopped really close to his crotch. Macron shivered as the Canadian kissed him on the neck. He felt hands sliding under his underwear and touching him, and then moving up to his neck, choking him, and a cold whisper in his ear: "Stop fucking playing with me."

Trudeau heard Macron gasp with excitement. Grinning, he lowered his gaze and found out how much his words were affecting him. He caressed the President's arms all the way down from his shoulders to his hands, held his wrists together and pulled back his arms, pinning him, leaving him in a vulnerable position. He climbed on top of the chair and straddled him.

"Hm..." he heard Macron moan as their crotches rubbed together. 

"See? I knew you'd like that. You're losing control for me", he whispered. "I'm sure that if I were to stop right now..." he pulled back and separated their bodies away from each other. "...you would very much lament it." He saw how Macron's hips jerked forward involuntarily. He was clutching the arms of his seat and probably twitching with excitement. Trudeau reached out to check. "Ah, I see." His cock was pulsing. "My dear friend Macron... You're losing sight of your duties already." He rubbed it hard, still with his underwear on. "Now come for me", he said out loud. Through the fabric of his boxers, he could feel him getting closer to the edge with every rub, and heard him moaning louder and louder. "Ah..."

Without stopping, Trudeau stared at him. "Oh, Manu. You definitely can't control yourself, can you? Well, make an effort. We might get caught" he murmured. "Should I gag you? Is that what you want?"

Macron couldn't answer at first. He was so close. Now Trudeau had slipped his hand beneath the fabric. "No..." he bit his lip. "Well, then be quiet." Trudeau suggested, moving his hand frenetically, skilfully. Within minutes, Macron couldn't help himself. 

Loudly, he came all over his underwear and Trudeau's stomach. "God! I told you to be quiet!" The Canadian seemed decidedly angry, although he kept moving his hand up and down until the last drop came out and Macron was pushing his hips as far from the chair as he possibly could. The Prime Minister bent down and licked it all off him, and swallowed. "You taste amazing, you really do. A bit like gasoline." He ran his hands through the President's body while he waited for him to recover full consciousness. He looked intimidatingly beautiful, with his downcast blue eyes and his shirt open, and his trousers pooled around his legs. His face was flushed and there were beads of sweat around his neck and his clenched jaw.

"Justin." Finally, Macron started to talk in perfect English, with his characteristic marked accent. "When you came in here... You didn't listen to a word I said, did you?"

Surprised, Trudeau stood up and leaned against the table. "Not really."

Macron fixed his sharp eyes upon him. "Why did you come in alone?" He looked serious, even if he was still half undressed. The question took the Prime Minister by surprise. Something deep inside the Frenchman's eyes spoke of unmeasurable guilt, responsibility and commitment. Trudeau was left speechless, and he tried to think of a sensible answer. He chose to remain quiet, and remembered telling his wife and his bodyguard that the visit would be private and there was no real need for his services that night.

Macron's question remained unanswered, in the air, for what seemed to be forever. With a profound exchange of glances, he understood that their chemistry went well beyond the diplomatic sphere. Macron harked back to all the times they had shaken hands for longer than necessary, perhaps in a display of affection. Trudeau always seemed to attract his attention, even when he was across the room or far away from him at the dinner table. He had thought that it was mere curiosity for seeing another leader as young as he was, and he had brushed off the times when he dreamt with him at night as a senseless product of his imagination, but now he knew that their close friendship would have to remain confidential, just like the inner workings of the foreign policy between their two countries.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is updated with a hefty dose of smut, in case you guys missed it. xx

Angela Merkel was standing by the President of France as he sipped champagne from a glass. They had been discussing the creation of a new European fighter jet, burying past rivalries as part of a raft of measures to tighten defense and security cooperation. Other world leaders were in the room, too, and every once in a while they took interest in the conversation. Christine Lagarde suggested that Merkel read the Global Risks Report 2017, and was delighted to know she had already studied it.

Macron was about to ask her for her personal perspective on global economic progress when he saw a man enter the room out of the corner of his eye. He forgot the question at once and his hands started to sweat. Hoping that the two women wouldn't notice his discomfort, he looked in his direction and noticed he was wearing a dark blue suit and a red tie, and his jet-black hair looked, as always, impeccable. Lagarde and Merkel were chatting with each other when the tall figure approached the group.

"Bonjour, mon ami", he greeted, and held Macron's hand. A shiver ran down his spine as they made eye contact, remembering that late night at the office when he had moaned his name. He wished the Canadian would bring out a topic interesting enough to grab his attention, or else he would be stuck staring at his lips the whole meeting through. "Bonjour, mon cher", he smiled.

Trudeau seemed pleased at the choice of words. They went on to discuss the nuances of the Franco-Canadian Trade Agreement, which was captivating enough.

After a while of conversation, Trudeau came closer to him and whispered in his ear: "I'm going to the restroom."

"It's a long way...", Macron answered jokingly. "You might get lost."

Trudeau was still very close to his mouth.

"Then come meet me."

 


End file.
